NotSoSecret Santa
by Ellipsis the Great
Summary: The thing Bones misses the most about Christmas is playing Santa for Joanna, so he tries to play Santa for the crew in secret. He kind of botches the 'secret' part. No pairings.


_**Not-So-Secret Santa**_

_A one-shot by Ellipsis the Great_

_**Summary: **__The thing Bones misses the most about Christmas is playing Santa for Joanna, so he tries to play Santa for the crew in secret. He kind of botches the 'secret' part. No pairings._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Star Trek belongs to J.J. Abrams, Gene Roddenberry, and all those other cool cats who own it. All I own is the plot!_

_**Rating:**__ T because I can't write Bones without cussing._

Jim isn't sure why they're all working on Christmas 'morning,' but he's going to blame it on Spock.

Although, honestly, he would prefer all of his 'main' crew to be working today than only a few of them—it makes him feel more like they're in it together, or something ridiculously sappy like that.

Not like it really matters. He can't change it, now, and no one else has really said anything about to him, so there's only one thing to be done.

He has to whine incessantly about it. And he does—he's almost as good at whining incessantly about things as Bones is at bitching incessantly about things. Almost.

And then stops in the door of the lift, the other members of the alpha crew running into his back and nearly sending the lot of them tumbling forward.

"Holy shit." Someone (Sulu, Jim thinks vaguely) says.

The bridge is totally decked out with 'holiday cheer'—a fully decorated (though obviously fake) tree in a corner of the room, strings of gaudy lights, silver tinsel, and popcorn strewn about seemingly at random, and a sprig of mistletoe hanging in an out-of-the-way space that Jim thinks he'll wander over to once he's figured out just what in the fuck is going on.

Sitting at each of their stations is a small woolen stocking stuffed to the brim with treats, but the captain's chair holds the pinnacle of all of this: wooden figurines of all of them that stand about a foot high, all gathered around a model of the _Enterprise_ (which is about a foot in length). The little dolls are obviously hand-made—the Scotty doll is missing its right middle finger, the tip of one of the Spock doll's ears seems to have gotten chipped off, and the Jim, Chekov, and Sulu dolls' shirts are all slightly different shades of yellow. But just as obvious is the pain-staking care that went into the making of each and every one, because there is the scar on Uhura's neck from a childhood accident, and the Spock doll's eyebrows are at just the right angle, and the Jim doll's eyes are the perfect shade of blue.

"This ees birch wood." Chekov whispers as he picks up his figurine and rolls it over in his hands. "The smell—ees Russian birch wood."

"Uhura, call Bones and Scotty up here." Jim says without taking his eyes off of the little dolls.

"Yes, Captain." Uhura says softly, nearly tripping on her way to her station.

"Who did all of this? Spock?"

Spock is reading a note that was taped to the back of the captain's chair with upraised brows. "It is signed 'Santa Claus,' Captain."

No one speaks for a moment.

"Santa Claus." Sulu repeats skeptically.

Spock doesn't deign to respond verbally, instead merely nodding his head ever-so-slightly.

"What in the hell do you want, Jim?" Bones snarls, his usual cheerful self as he exits the turbolift with Scotty just behind him. There are dark bags under his eyes, like he hasn't slept in weeks, and someone (Chapel, probably, because she's awesome like that) evidently put a Santa hat on him without him noticing because a) it's still there, and b) it looks like it's on the verge of falling off his head.

"Look at these, Bones!" Jim says, grabbing the Bones doll and shoving it in his best friend's face.

And there's something—the way Bones clears his throat and won't quite look at anyone; the way he doesn't immediately start bitching about...you know, anything and everything; the way there is _totally_ a little smile on his lips—that tips them off to the fact that

"Doctor, you…you did this?" Chekov asks.

"I didn't do shit." Bones snaps. "The note says 'Santa,' doesn't it?"

Spock clears his throat. "Doctor, I do not believe anyone informed you of that."

Bones' cheeks light up like...well, like a Christmas ornament, and though he sputters and huffs for a moment, eventually he gives up and gives them a sheepish grin that is probably only possible because of how tired he obviously is (and they wonder vaguely if gamma shift helped him put up some of the decorations or if he insisted on doing everything himself). He shuffles his feet and takes the Santa hat from his head (whaddya know, he was actually aware of it), running his free hand through his hair. "It's…y'know, our first Christmas up here, and…the first Christmas I haven't been in Georgia with my daughter."

No one says anything for a long while, and then Uhura takes out her earpiece, walks over to him, and throws her arms around his neck, leaning up onto her tiptoes and kissing his cheek.

"Happy Christmas, Doctor. Thank you _so_ much." She says, sniffling.

Chekov comes over next, echoing Uhura's motions with a little more hesitation (Chekov is still a bit wary of him, probably thanks to that comment on his age), followed by Sulu, who just pats his back, and then Scotty, who throws his arms around all of them (they're pretty sure they can smell 'eggnog').

When they pull away from Bones, Jim moves in, hugging the doctor so hard he lifts him off of the floor. Bones jolts a little when he is set back down, and Jim and Uhura both clear their throats at the same time and look at Spock, who coughs and nods at Bones without saying anything. Bones nods back, and the other occupants of the room think they see them do that weird eyebrow thing that is almost like a language just for them (although Uhura is working on it).

"This is awesome, Bones." Jim says, clapping him on the back. "Did you _make_ these?"

"My grandfather taught me how to whittle when I was a kid." Bones says with a shrug.

"So you made them." Jim says, whistling fascinatedly. "That's fucking awesome, Bones. Where'd you get all of the wood and stuff?"

"The tool and paint are some of the only things I got from the divorce, but I ordered the wood before we took off." Bones says. He's refusing to look at them again, instead focusing on the doll that is still held tightly in Jim's hand. "I, uh…used a different kind for each one.

"But we didn't know Spock was going to come until we were taking off." Uhura says.

Bones shrugs. "Everyone knows Spock's the only First Officer Jim would put up with, so I…guessed. If he hadn't shown up I'd have just…given that one to you instead of making it part of the set. And probably put it in Vulcan robes instead of a Starfleet uniform."

"You could have just used the wood for another project, Doctor, there was no need—" Spock begins.

"You know how much fucking trouble it was finding out what kind to get for you, you damned green-blooded ingrate?" Bones' hackles raise almost visibly, the blush on his cheeks instantly changing from embarrassed pink to angry red.

"You got a _specific_ kind?" Uhura interrupts smoothly before the fighting can escalate.

Although obviously still annoyed—they're doing that thing again that makes everyone think they're actually _arguing_ using only their eyebrows, for _Christ's_ sake—Bones relaxes a little and tears his eyes away from Spock to look at her. "Of course I did. You don't just grab a stick off the ground willy-nilly and start carving. There's Umbrella Thorn for you, Oak for Jim, Russian Birch for Chekov, Japanese Cherry for Sulu, Scots Pine for Scotty, Live Oak for me, Redwood for the _Enterprise_, and Western Hemlock for _him_." And here he glares fiercely at the half-Vulcan in question.

"Why?" Jim asks.

"State trees." Bones says. "Or, er, national trees. Except I used Japanese Cherry for Sulu even though he's from California because I used Redwood for the _Enterprise_. Because Starfleet's in California."

"And the Western Hemlock?" Sulu asks.

"Because his mom's from Seattle, Washington." Bones mutters. "According to his dad, at least."

"You…contacted my father to inquire about my mother's birthplace…before you were certain I would actually be joining the crew of the _Enterprise_?" Spock asks, blinking.

"That's what I said, ain't it?" Bones asks. "And, look, it ain't a big deal, alright? It's just something I do in my spare time—when I get spare time—and it's pure luck I got 'em done in time for Christmas. You weren't supposed to know it was me."

They all exchange a look, and then, as one, move their eyebrows in a way that says quite clearly,

'_That makes it even better.'_

The End.

_A/N: B'awww, Bones. It didn't turn out…exactly how I wanted it to, but whatever. Merry Christmas, kiddies!_


End file.
